


A Great Favour

by May_Shepard



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Dare, victorian husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/pseuds/May_Shepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this Tumblr prompt by iamjohnlocked4life:</p><p>“My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming.” -ACD, Silver Blaze</p><p>Please write this into a sex scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Favour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseinMyHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseinMyHand/gifts), [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts).



The great detective lifted his head, lips smacking as they released the good doctor’s enormous cock. 

“My dear Watson,” he gasped, regretting the bet they’d made earlier. 

“Yes?” Watson purred, his breath heaving and sighing, his cock flushed and leaking, a smug smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “What is it, Holmes?”

Holmes shook his head. No. He would not give up now. Watson’s prick was leaking, had been leaking copiously for fully thirty minutes. He had to be close. All signs suggested he was, but he would not finish, the bastard.

Nothing for it but to keep sucking. Holmes opened his aching jaw once more, relaxed the back of his throat, and plunged down onto Watson’s prick, swallowing him yet again. 

He’d never imagined that Watson could hold out as long as he had. Not after the many times he’d told Holmes that his mouth was capable of magic. The first time Holmes had licked him, he’d come within thirty seconds. 

That was months ago. Since then, their love had taken on a competitive edge, as was inevitable between two sharp-witted men. 

Watson moaned and shifted under Holmes’s ministrations. “Mmmmm,” he murmured. “That’s it, keep going.”

Holmes tongued and licked and sucked, using every trick he’d ever learned to push Watson over the edge. His mouth was growing numb from the pressure, his lips chafing, but with fifteen minutes left before the bet was lost, he must not stop. 

Holmes held Watson’s balls, massaging them lightly with his thumb. “Yes,” Watson groaned. “Very nice.” 

Still, he did not reach his peak. 

Holmes began to wonder why he’d agreed to the bet in the first place.

“You rush me, Holmes,” Watson had told him, earlier that day. “It isn’t all about the ending, no matter how much you love the drama of conclusions.”

“Please,” Holmes had said. “You simply love what I do too much. You cannot help but come the moment I touch you.”

Watson had stared him down, thrilling him to the core. Holmes loved that look of danger Watson often got in his eye, as much as he loved the man himself. 

“I don’t have to,” Watson had said, his gaze steady. “I just indulge you too much.”

“Oh?”

“I could last any length of time you please. You could do whatever you like, and I assure you, I could go fully forty-five minutes and not reach a climax.”

Holmes had howled with laughter. “Oh, my dear boy!” He’d fallen down on the divan for emphasis, ego a little wounded, but largely unbelieving in the face of what had, up until this moment, been overwhelming evidence to the contrary. 

Now, the clock ticked loudly in the corner, each moment seeming to draw itself out, long and slow, while Holmes’s wrists ached and his tongue and lips did things that had, up until this day, been irresistible, according to Watson. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love the man, and his prick. Even now, as fatigue set in and the back of his neck ached, he had to admire the firm thickness of Watson’s manhood, the way it filled his mouth, the flesh sliding into the back of his throat, the breathy, sinful sighs that Watson made with each twist and flick of Holmes’s tongue, with each slide of his lips up and down Watson’s length. 

“Yes, Holmes,” Watson sighed. “Very good.”

He sounded as relaxed as he did when freshly emerging from a bath, despite the heat of his prick as it throbbed and pulsed against Holmes’s tongue. 

If circumstances were different, Holmes well knew, Watson would have let go by now. At least, he felt fairly certain he would have. It was only the bet that held him back. Poor man, in fact he must be suffering immensely. 

Holmes released Watson’s prick and took him in hand so he could examine his beloved’s face. Watson’s cheeks blazed with inward fire, and a line of sweat ran down from his temple, despite the fact that the room was rather chilly. His eyes were half-lidded, and, as Holmes worked his prick steadily and surely, Watson looked down at him with a smug half smile. The man was suffering, but he seemed determined to last as long as he’d claimed he could. In fact, that look of self-assurance seemed to dare Holmes to give up, now that the time was nearly gone. 

Ego warred in Holmes with the spirit of mercy. He’d never been a tender man, never prone to allowing others their small victories over him. Then again, Watson had won when he’d shown Holmes that he was worth being loved. Holmes had never believed anything of the sort before.

That was the lesson, was it not, of their hard-won affection for each other? Sometimes, when one loses, it is in fact a triumph.

Watson watched him still, his eye steady, his marble prick slick with his own fluids and Holmes’s saliva, breathing hard, all the while using whatever trick he had devised to hold himself back from the edge. 

Holmes could not keep himself from smiling up with every tenderness at the man he loved so dearly. Clearing his throat, he murmured, low and sweet and raspy, in the tones he knew Watson adored: 

“My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming.”

Watson gasped, the pain he must feel showing in the set of his brow, his gritted teeth. “I win the bet, then? You give up?”

Holmes nodded, allowing something of the devil to show in his eyes, as he quickened the pace of his hand, leaned down, and traced a circle on the head of Watson’s prick with the tip of his tongue. 

Watson groaned and shouted, his whole body spasming as he lifted his hips and came explosively on Holmes’s lips, his prick spouting great gouts of come. 

When he was finished, lying back, cock softening against his soaked linens, Holmes clambered over him, took his hand, and pressed it to his own aching prick. 

“Now that all bets are off, my dear boy, I hope you won’t waste any time in helping me find the drama of my own conclusion.”

 


End file.
